


the sweetest of flames burn only for you

by ardskelling



Series: The Tales of Twin Serpents [2]
Category: For Honor (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:08:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23659630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardskelling/pseuds/ardskelling
Summary: Aiya enjoys time with Hertha, without a care in the world.
Relationships: Nobushi/Female Jormungandr
Series: The Tales of Twin Serpents [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1703539
Kudos: 4





	the sweetest of flames burn only for you

**Author's Note:**

> “Smouldering ash did my body yield, from all those lost people; they that hath long since parted this world because of me. And yet amidst the choking smog and driest of ash that I do now stand upon, thine precious fire hath been kindled in my broken heart.”

_ Do not play with fire.  _ Her father’s voice presses into her mind, a word of warning.  _ A stray flame can cause the world to burn.  _ And as Hertha’s fingers glide over her, the motion itself holding nothing but love for her, Aiya’s mind struggles to stay awake and alert. The allure of fire was always much too tempting, like a colourful piece of the sweetest candy, just out of reach. It was too much than she cared to admit. Hertha, to her, is that sinful and perfect and oh-so-tempting candy, and perhaps she is the only fire she ever willingly wished to toy with. The hands of her lover start in her hair, the choppily cut nails scraping against her scalp, causing her eyes to close in reverie. And Aiya’s hands run gentle, tickling circles over the plains of the Viking’s battle-hardened abdomen, relishing in the soft groan Hertha gave as she did so. Hertha’s hands moved downwards, over the back and base of her neck, the taut muscles between shoulders getting the wondrous treatment of a massaging. Aiya’s lip curls into that of a loose and gleeful smile, an intoxicating sense of euphoria filling her. Hertha is a strong woman, but she would never truly hurt her. And now, her fingers painted a great and soothing pattern over the tense and sore muscles of her body. She felt tired, her consciousness beginning to wane, piece by piece.

_ She feels like stone _ , the Samurai rules in her own sleepy mind. Hertha’s fingers are rugged, bearing calluses and scarred palms. The telltale feel of a fire’s burn charred into her very skin, and the ever so slight scaling that had long since been warped by the fire she herself had submitted herself to, the echoes of a ritual long since rendering her skin burned and scaled and oh so strange, by those she had been exiled from. They were shaped and whetted by years and years of climbing, of hunting, of fighting for her life and still, they were unique to her. Yet for all of her ruggedness, the Nobushi loved her. Aiya loved the feel of her hands, of being pulled close to the body of the warrior, her head finding the crook of her neck, loved feeling the warmth of her breath on her skin. There was a very sacred and very welcome safety that emanated from her Viking lover, the way she made it known that Aiya was hers and  _ only hers _ and that territorial and primal demeanor was what caused her to fall into a sort of role when with Hertha. The Nobushi was not fragile nor inadequate in the way of muscle by any means, but the strength in Hertha, the undeniable force she held within her body, in the very aura she had, it caused her to feel meek and so, so  _ small _ . 

Her fingers traced down her skin, leaving a hot and sweetly burning fire in their wake. She toiled away like this for hours, just caressing her, giving her every ounce of love that she had to offer, and more often than not, Aiya could not resist the siren song of dreams, which Hertha always made her seek out in the evening time. Her eyes, when she found herself growing lost in them, were electrifying and alluring, like glittering lapis that were depthless and ethereally beautiful and despite the horrors she had witnessed, they had never lost their shine. She was like a storm come to life, the taste of salt and the sea and the tinge of lightning kept her on her toes. And her kisses, oh by the Fates, her kisses ignited a flame within her. Within the bosom of Aiya rested an eternal pit of ash, whatever fire rested within the cinders had long since died out from walking the path of the warrior. And it never failed, the fact that every time that woman was near, every time she caressed her frame or placed kisses upon her lips, the expanse of her mind became alive with fire, and the empty void in her war-torn soul burned with the licking flames of that fiery tempest, that undeniable and unyielding love, stronger and brighter than any flame known to man. 

Hertha’s lips pressed once to her awaiting mouth, and she could taste the sweetness of her own personal stash of mead, the honey still as sweet as ever, not at all bitter with age. And then again at her neck, Aiya’s breathing began to pick up slightly. And once more, the pressure returned, this time at her collarbone. She took her sweet time going down, slow and sensual and  _ always _ teasing.  _ Not like they were going anywhere in the first place.  _ Aiya found that her mind went completely blank and her breathing hitched in her throat, as the firm and languid swipe of Hertha’s tongue sent her pulse racing, the soft skin of her breast coated with a sheen of wet heat. And then, the quiet of night was lost, within a honey-sweet and hotly burning fire.


End file.
